


Losing Touch

by faeryroses



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Asexuality, Biromantic Asexual Thomas, Depression, Friends to Lovers, Gay Newt, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideology, Teresa is a Mention Only, also he seems super American because...I'm..American..., he uses gay slurs (referring to himself lolol) but canon Newt would never, i also don't know much about PTSD, idk anything about the foster care system except the dramatized version on The Fosters lmaooooo, in Thomas's POV, slightly OOC Newt, third person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-06-23 03:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15597567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeryroses/pseuds/faeryroses
Summary: TW: i tagged a lot of stuff, but because some are spoilers, i don't want to tag everything. if there's something you want to know about, lemme know and i will tag it if it's an issueThomas has been in the foster care system since he was five years old. This house didn’t look much different from any other house he had stayed at before.





	1. A Great and Sudden Change

**Author's Note:**

> thought i should clarify that there might not actually be Graphic Depictions of Violence in this (we'll see where it goes) but I didn't want to do the whole No Archive Warnings because there's some Not Good ™ stuff so :/ idk it's more just allusions to violence. i don't think i'd physically be able to write the scene where the things actually happen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i don't know if this fic is gonna go anywhere but i'm already working on the third chapter! i'm gonna try to make this a weekly update kinda thing. (also yes, i'm still working on Sleep Until It's Over. I also have a one-shot coming out soon. if I can settle on an ending.)

This house didn’t look much different from any other house he had stayed at before. Even if each house physically looked different, they were all the same. They didn’t look like home.

The dull blue paint on this house wasn’t chipping, nor were the windows dark and uninviting, but still the house looked dismal somehow. Like it had been lived in, but unloved, for the past twenty years.

“Okay, Thomas, let’s get out of the car now,” the agent suggested patiently. She had introduced herself and said her name less than an hour ago when the car ride began, but Thomas had already forgotten. She smiled superficially at him. He could only imagine how much she hated her job.

At last he unbuckled his seat belt, sighing. Picking up his bag, he pushed the car door open and climbed out, squinting up into the bright sunlight. It was unusually warm for November.

“Are you ready, Thomas?” He didn’t know why the woman insisted on using his name so much. It made his skin crawl. That weird crackling noise that seemed to trickle from his skull and down his spine muttered for a few seconds before quieting again.

“Yeah.”

She led the way to the front door of the house, carrying in her arms a cardboard box of Thomas’s belongings. He didn’t have much. In the box, there were a couple shirts and pants, underwear, an extra pair of shoes, and his toothbrush. The contents of his backpack were just as mundane; it only contained his phone charger, deodorant, a broken-spine copy of Half Magic, some cash, a mix of pens and pencils, and a notebook.

In a fire, that notebook would be the first thing Thomas saved. He went through this activity in his head time and time again, but his answer always remained the same.

The agent supported the cardboard box on her hip as she knocked on the front door. The sound of the doorknob jiggling jarred him from his thoughts. Thomas prepared himself in the eternity of the second it took whoever was behind the door to open it.

A woman opened the door. She looked the same age as Ava — he shook his head to clear the thought. Her thin, almost wispy, hair didn’t match her youthful smile. “It’s Thomas! Hello! Come in, come in.” The service agent gestured for Thomas to enter first, so he stepped across the threshold.

Suddenly he found himself enveloped in a hug. Immediately he stiffened. She smelled like incense. He knew that awkwardly standing there with his arms to his sides was _not_ good, but he couldn’t move. His throat closed up and it took everything in him to not push the woman away.

Finally she pulled away, but held him at arm's length. “We’re so glad you’re here, Thomas!”

He couldn’t look her in the eye. Past her shoulder he saw a little kid standing in a doorway, half of his body hidden by the frame. He just stared solemnly at Thomas. Thomas cleared his throat and looked back to the woman. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go into the living room here, so you can sit down. You too, Clara. Wow, you're so much younger than I thought!”

Ah. The agent’s name was Clara.

Thomas went into the living room, and had to be told to sit again before he made a move. “Where is everyone?” the woman wondered aloud. “Vince!” she shouted. Smiling apologetically to Thomas, she asked, “Are you thirsty? Or hungry? I can get you something if you want.”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Clara?”

“Could I please have some water?”

“Of course!”

“Thank you, Mary.”

Mary. He remembered now that the agent had told him the family’s names, but again, he had forgotten.

Mary left the room, and Thomas sat in silence with the agent, Clara. She smiled at him encouragingly. Then the kid Thomas saw earlier creeped into the room.

“Hey,” he said. In an instant the boy didn’t seem as timid. “I’m Chuck.”

“I’m Thomas,” he replied. He tried to smile at him, and the way Chuck beamed back at him indicated that Thomas wasn’t coming off as cold as he feared.

The change in his behavior made Thomas realize that Chuck was older than he previously thought. He couldn’t have been any younger than twelve years old. He plopped onto the couch next to Thomas.

“How many foster homes have you been in?” Thomas blinked, taken aback, but Chuck was quick to not sound so direct. “I was in four different homes before Vince and Mary adopted me.”

“They adopted you?”

“Yeah! Five years ago.” Thomas nodded; he didn’t like feeling jealous. “So?”

Right. Chuck had asked him a question. “I lived with my uncle for awhile, and after that I was in five different homes.” He didn’t know if he should include the emergency-only situation with the group home he stayed in the past week.

“So this’ll be your sixth? Maybe it will be your last!”

Thomas wished he still had that kind of enthusiasm. “Maybe. What’s it like here?” Mary came back into the room, mildly surprised to see Chuck sitting next to Thomas. But she smiled, handed a glass of water to Clara, and sat in an armchair across from them.

“Well, Vince and Mary are, like, the best parents ever. Vince can be a little strict, but I mean, I trust him.” Chuck broke his serious expression to smile at Mary, who had chuckled at his joke. “And Jorge and Brenda are staying with us, so it can be a little loud but it’s fun. Oh, Jorge and Brenda are family friends. They were kicked out of their apartment a while ago.”

“Oh. Cool.” _Cool?_ What an idiotic response.

Chuck laughed. Mary spoke up. “Vince should be coming down from his office in a minute, and Jorge and Brenda are almost home. He’s picking her up from school.”

“Mom let me come home from school early to meet you!”

Thomas flushed red. “Oh. Um, thank you.” He wasn’t sure if he could be sarcastic yet, but he gave it a try. “Am I meeting your expectations?”

“Just barely.” Chuck laughed again. They all heard footsteps on the stairs. “Dad’s finally here.”

The man entered the room. Since he saw the CPS agent first, he greeted her and shook her hand. Then he turned to Thomas, who fidgeted with the straps of his backpack. Should he stand up to greet his foster father? Would he hug him, like Mary did, or go for a handshake? He always felt so unsure around men. His past experiences with foster fathers, for the most part, had not been good at all. Even though there was nothing inherently wrong about Doug and Andrew, his uncle had been terrible, Mr. Anderson had been terrible, Chris had been terrible, and —

“Hi, Thomas, I’m Vince.” He extended his hand.

Thomas swallowed, and rose to his feet as he took Vince’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

He shook his head, but he didn’t smile or chuckle or anything. Thomas expected him to, since Mary and Chuck were so cheery. But Vince was intense, his eyes piercing. “No need to call me sir.” Thomas didn’t know what he should feel about him, but he knew he felt…wary.

The front door opened, and a girl shouted, “We’re home!” and continued a conversation, still quite loudly. “And I’m like, there’s no _way_ we’re gonna have enough time to do all that by December 3rd.” Thomas heard a man respond, but couldn’t make out the words.

Mary had gone to the foyer to meet them, and Vince took her seat. Thomas sat back down next to Chuck. “How was the trip?” Vince asked.

“It was fine,” Thomas responded, on edge again.

The two other people entered the room then, along with Mary. “Hey, you’re Thomas?” the girl asked, juggling a stack of books and a lunch bag in her arms. There was a fire in her eyes that spoke not of fury or temper, but of passion and love of life. He’d never seen such a look in anyone before.

“Yes, I’m Thomas.”

“Cool. I’m Brenda. Chuck didn’t say anything horrible about me, did he?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, Chuck. I’m disappointed.”

The man approached, a handsome smile gracing his face. “Hi Thomas. I’m Jorge.” He shook hands with Thomas, then sat to Chuck’s right.

“Okay, I should take off,” said Clara. She got up from where she sat and gave the cardboard box to Thomas, saying, “I’ll leave you to settle in with these nice folks. You’ll be fine, Thomas. But call me if you need anything.” She whispered this last thing to Thomas, tapping the top of the box where she had scribbled a phone number. And suddenly he felt incredibly grateful for this woman. Not many agents actually cared about their foster kids. (That’s why he’d ended up in so many bad homes.)

“Thank you, Clara,” he said, addressing her by name for the first time. She smiled, and said goodbye to Vince, Mary, Jorge, Brenda, Chuck.

Then Thomas was on his own again.

“So,” Brenda said. “Who is ‘Thomas’? Talk to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that Thomas has uhh Daddy Issues™
> 
> anyway here's this annoying and uneventful and short first chapter, the second one is a lot longer and eventful and terribly written haha (wow i'm really selling this for you guys, aren't I?)
> 
> i probably won't update once a week. I'm probably gonna post chapter two like tomorrow lmao


	2. Indulge the Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has to go back to school boooooo school sux
> 
> "I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning: i'm a bad writer. :/ (Alyssa. if you're reading this... stop. but if you must continue, you already know i'm better than this) I don't get angry very much so im bad at writing angry characters. sorry lol!! also say hello to more characters! hello boys!

Thomas had the weekend to become adjusted to the house, the neighborhood, the people who took him in. Chuck played cards and video games with him, which is how he learned he was absolutely abysmal at Mario Sports. Brenda drove him to the mall to buy new clothes, since she pitied his poor selection, and somehow convinced him to buy skincare products. (He disliked that Saturday afternoon, _so_ much.) He helped Vince in the kitchen, which made Vince a less imposing character, and helped Mary with laundry and repainting his room. (She insisted on the change as soon as she noticed his face of disgust at the lime green walls the first time he walked in.) Jorge offered him a smoke, and Thomas politely declined. Instead, Jorge gifted him a set of plastic folders and a new sketchbook for school.

And then it was Monday.

“Thomas! Are you ready for your first day of school?” Chuck ran into Thomas’s room, jumping onto his bed and laughing joyfully. Thomas groaned, struggling to push Chuck off of him. He’d been awake in bed for at least ten minutes, unable to get up, but still he was unprepared for Chuck’s constant enthusiasm and volume. And his touchiness. It drove Thomas crazy. But he couldn’t tell adorable Chuck to stop touching him, no matter how painfully air passed through his lungs when it happened.

“Come on, get up! Mom said she can drive us to school, ‘cause she doesn’t work until 9 this morning.”

“Well, you need to get off of me if you want me to get ready.” At last Chuck clambered off the bed, and Thomas sat up, feigning a yawn to hide his unsteady breathing. Chuck told him to hurry before he ran out of the room again.

Thomas sat for a few minutes, controlling his breathing and rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes. The prospect of going to school again seemed so foreign, because of how normal it was. How could he return to normal after the last couple weeks?

He sighed. It’s what he needed, though, returning to as normal a routine as possible.

 

———

 

_“Who is ‘Thomas’? Talk to us.”_

_“Um.” He didn’t know what to say, or where to start. He didn’t know who he was, really._

_“What kind of games do you like?” Chuck prompted._

_“I don’t… really play games.”_

_“Sports?”_

_“Um. No.”_

_“Favorite movies?” Mary asked._

_“I don’t watch a lot of movies either.”_

_“So what do you like to do?” Vince asked, his expression unreadable. It made Thomas’s heart spike with fear._

_He ran a hand through his hair. “Um. I guess I like to read.”_

_“Cool! He has a personality!” Brenda joked. “What do you read?”_

_“I really like Fahrenheit 451, but the last book I finished was The Sign of the Four. It’s.. Sherlock Holmes.” He hated how shy he sounded._

_Mary smiled. “You like classics! Have you read Catcher in the Rye?”_

_“Not yet. I was going to read that for class next month, but that was before I left that school.” His eye twitched._ It’s okay, it’s okay, _he reassured himself._

_“If you don’t mind us asking, why did you leave your last home?”_

_There it was. Exactly what he was dreading. His leg started bouncing. He put a hand on his knee to still himself. “I— I don’t —“ He breathed. “I’m not comfortable talking about it. Sorry.”_

_“No need to apologize,_ hermano _,” Jorge said. His voice, soft and comforting, caused Thomas to turn and flash a grateful smile at him._

 _“Well,” said Vince. “I hope you don’t find yourself wanting to leave_ us _too soon. Especially since we plan on having an outstanding dessert tonight.”_

_Mary’s face lit up. “I do hope you like apple pie, Thomas!”_

_He smiled back at her. “Of course I do. Who doesn’t?”_

 

———

 

Oh, god. Somehow he forgot just how horrible school lunchrooms were. The lunch lines always a complete mess, and the food, which smelled good enough but looked awful and tasted even worse. And assholes, everywhere. Thomas tried to make himself as small and invisible as possible, but people still bumped into him and made leering eye contact.

Behind him, a group of students burst into obnoxious laughter and someone was shoved into Thomas. Annoyed, he bit his lip, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Why was the line moving so slowly?

“Hey, Thomas, right?” someone said behind him. Thomas turned around to face a boy he recognized from his English class. He couldn’t remember his name.

“Yeah, and you are…?”

“Alby.” He grinned and held a hand out for a handshake. When Thomas didn’t immediately reciprocate, Alby shrugged it off and dropped his hand. “Anyway. Just wanted to check on ya, see that you’re doing alright. Being the new kid, especially in the middle of the school year, it really sucks, doesn’t it?”

Thomas really didn’t want to deal with this. Alby seemed like one of those ‘popular guys,’ which in all honesty translated to ‘asshole.’ “Well. I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“‘Course not.” It looked like there was something Alby was trying to say.

“What?” Thomas asked, irritation lacing his voice.

“Nothin’. I was just adopted when I was five, and I know Mary and Vince are always fostering kids. I like talking to them, sharing experiences, you know? And I like to think it makes them feel more welcome.” He grinned, but Thomas kept a poker face.

“Why?”

“Um. Why what?” His grin faltered.

“Why do you talk to all of Mary and Vince’s kids? Why would you think it makes them more comfortable?” Alby searched for an answer, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Thomas didn’t know why he suddenly felt so angry, but he found he couldn’t hold back his biting words. “You like to remind yourself of how lucky you’ve been? To not be tossed around like a game of hot potato that lasts twelve years?”

Alby’s eyes were wide; he shrunk back a little as Thomas’s voice rose. “Whoa, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— I just don’t want you to feel lonely or—“

“Why do you care if I feel lonely? You don’t know me. Just because you were adopted, doesn’t mean you automatically know me, you don’t get to be my buddy.” He stepped closer to Alby, his hands instinctively raising.

“Hey, man,” he said, his eyes then void of any fear. Thomas noticed people approaching, but couldn’t stop, couldn’t care. Alby gave Thomas a warning look. “You don’t—“

“Just leave me _alone_!” he shouted, shoving Alby in the chest. “ _Leave me alone!_ ”

“Hey, hey!” Someone grabbed at Thomas.

He whirled around, screaming, “Don’t touch me!” He recoiled away from them.

Another boy stood in front of Alby, holding an arm in front of him, either to protect him or hold him back, or both. The guy who pulled Thomas away said, “Hey,” again. “You alright there?” Thomas breathed heavily, shocked by the sudden anger clouding his eyes. Grounding himself, he focused on each of his senses for a moment. He tasted bitterness. He smelled pizza. He heard clattering dishes and conversation. He felt his nails digging into his palms. He saw a blond kid in front of him, hands out in a cautious stance. He looked like he was trying to tame a wild animal, but his eyes were warm.

Somehow that did it for him. Thomas’s hands relaxed and he breathed deeply. The boy spoke again. “You don’t want to make a scene, do you?” He glanced around him at everyone staring. “Fuck off, all o’ you!” he shouted. Faced Thomas again. “You good now?” He took a hesitant step forwards.

“Yes.” He turned to Alby, but couldn’t meet his eyes. “Sorry, man.”

“S’alright.” Alby shook himself.

The Asian kid next to Alby muttered, “Told you you’d get in trouble eventually.” Thomas narrowed his eyes at him, about to say something again, when the blond kid got his attention again.

“Um, why don’t you let me get your lunch for you?”

Thomas scoffed. “No. I don’t need your—“

“Just let me get it for you. Please.” He looked at Thomas with such a tired and irritated expression that he admitted defeat and agreed. “Minho, get Alby out of here before he starts another fight.” Alby was dragged away, protesting that he hadn’t started the fight.

“Sorry about him,” the other kid said. “We keep telling him to mind his own business, but he obviously doesn’t listen.”

The possibility of getting in trouble finally hit him. “He won’t do anything, will he? Am I gonna get detention for starting a fucking fight in the cafeteria?” Honestly, aside from the trouble that would cause in the foster system, that’d be embarrassing. He’d done worse.

The boy chuckled. “No, no. You’re safe. But it’d be a different story if— no, never mind.”

Thomas wanted to ask him to continue, curious about what he was about to say. Instead, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Newt.”

He stared at him. “Newt.”

“Yes.”

“…Okay.”

Newt smiled. “Alright, here.” He handed a lunch tray to Thomas. “The green beans are never any good, the breadsticks are always too crunchy, and the pizza literally drips with grease. Choose wisely.” Newt got nachos and an apple, and Thomas got nachos and sweet corn. Newt made a face at the corn, but didn’t stop him.

“You’re gonna come sit with us. Alby’ll be fine with it. Minho punched him the first day they met and now look at them! So who knows where you’ll end up.” He smiled again, leading the way through the lunch room, greeting a few people in passing. Then Newt pulled a chair out at a table with a few other boys and gestured for Thomas to sit, bowing mockingly, and took a seat next to him. Thomas hesitated before he sat, unsure as to why he was going along with this. He usually never associated with people like Newt, who obviously had some money. (Thomas could tell from the way he carried himself.) He wondered what Newt’s ulterior motives could possibly be.

“So what’s _your_ name?” he asked.

“Thomas.”

“Is it true that you’re one of Vince and Mary’s foster kids, Thomas?”

Thomas bit his tongue to stop himself from becoming angry again. “Yes.”

“I know them. And Chuck, too. He’s a really sweet kid. Brenda still lives with them?”

He blinked in surprise. “Yeah. How do you know them?”

Newt shrugged. “I used to date Brenda’s brother.”

He didn’t know whether to be more surprised about Newt apparently being gay or Brenda having a secret brother.

The blond boy saw his expression of astonishment and smirked. “What is it?”

Thomas sheepishly looked away and picked up his fork, but said, “I didn’t know she had a brother. She hasn’t said anything.” He looked to Newt again.

“Well, she doesn’t talk about it much. Touchy subject. She came out as bi to her mum a few years ago, and she didn’t take it too well, and kicked her out of the house. But when George brought me home a year later, she didn’t much care. Bren’s still hurt about it all.” He glanced at Thomas, who had stopped eating as he listened. “Don’t tell her I told you. And eat your lunch.”

He obeyed, starting on his corn. Then he saw Minho and Alby approaching. Strangely he felt like he had been caught doing something wrong; he averted his gaze and shifted his body away from Newt with as much subtlety he could muster.

Minho set his tray down across from Thomas. “Hey,” he said to Newt.

“Nice of you to finally show up. ’S Alby good?”

“I’m fine,” he said, sliding into the seat next to Minho. “Hey, man,” he said to Thomas. “Sorry about earlier.” His apology seemed sincere enough.

“I’m sorry, too. Didn’t mean it.” He tried to smile in reconciliation, but mostly he just felt awkward. Just a few minutes earlier he was ready to smash Alby’s nose in, and there he was sitting with him for lunch.

Newt broke the tense silence. “Anyway, what took you shanks so long? Tommy here already knows I’m a fag.”

Thomas choked. “Everyone knows, man, I’d be surprised if he didn’t know by now,” Minho said dryly. “So the gay guy didn’t scare you away yet, Thomas?”

He cleared his throat. “No, uh, it’s nothing new to me.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “What, are _you_ gay, too?”

“Minho!” Newt exclaimed.

Alby smacked his arm. “Dude, you can’t say things like that.”

“I’m allowed to, I have a gay best friend.”

“That doesn’t mean—“

“Don’t change the topic, Alby, we were talking about the new kid.” Alby rolled his eyes and Minho turned back to Thomas, straight-faced. “So?”

Even though he was mortified beyond belief, he retorted, “Why do you wanna know? Are you interested?”

Alby and Newt burst into laughter, Alby slapping Minho on the back. A trace of surprise peeked through Minho’s cold facade, but he smirked. “Nice one,” he commended.

Alby wiped his eyes as he tried to stop laughing. In between breaths, he said, “Oh, Thomas, I’m so glad you didn’t hit me.” Thomas let himself smile a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao idk  
> leave some comments! i love constructive criticism. i think the next chapter is the shortest chapter i've written, but chapters 4-6 are definitely gonna be longer and have more substance.
> 
> and next week, I'll be uploading from college! yikes! classes don't actually start until next Wednesday though so the Monday after that, I'll officially be a college student..


	3. Something at Work in My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the shortest chapter i've written yet, so sorry that this week's update is a little disappointing! chapter four is currently 2772 words, but i don't know if i'm done with it yet. I finished it but i might change it throughout the week before i update. anyway chapter 5 is also gonna be long. chapter six, idk if it's gonna be long but it's gonna be GOOD. and chapter 7 we finally get some backstory. i'm excited lol

Sixth period was Anatomy. This class, notoriously easy, was one of the only classes he didn’t have to worry about cramming for when finals came up in about a month. (When he asked Minho what he meant by easy, he said, “Easy to cheat. But even if you want to do the actual work, it’s still easy.”) He still had six other classes to catch up on, though; even Study Hall had a final assignment. 

Ms. Lee had him sit in the back row in the only empty seat, for which he felt extremely lucky. From here, he could keep an eye on everyone in the room, and if anything happened, he could likely be the first person out the door.

Thomas watched more students pass through the door. He recognized most, but a few looked like they were in grades below him. There were even a couple seniors. 

Newt and Minho walked in then. He wasn’t surprised; they’d exchanged class schedules at lunch. “Hey,” Newt smiled as he passed Thomas. Minho nodded in acknowledgement and followed Newt to their assigned seats in the other back corner. 

Thomas went back to watching the door. 

There was a girl with beautiful dark hair and a nice smile. Thomas stared at her. She laughed at something one of her friends said. Her eyes landed on him briefly, curious, causing his breath to catch, before she looked away to head towards her seat. He couldn’t help but watch her. She was just lovely. And pretty smiles always did him in. She leaned comfortably in her seat, scratched her neck, tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Alright, class,” Ms. Lee said. The bell rang, and class began.

 

———

 

He didn’t like her anymore. For the whole hour, she only paid attention to her phone. Instead of filling in her worksheets with the answers Ms. Lee gave them on the slideshow, she asked another girl, Sonya, to text her all the answers later. Thomas thought that was just preposterous. And if that wasn’t enough, there were times that she talked and laughed over Ms. Lee as she taught. Thomas couldn’t understand how the teacher didn’t get upset about this at all. 

With the five minutes of free time they got at the end of class, Thomas took out his book, opened it to where he’d stuck a scrap of paper as a bookmark. He crumpled up the piece of paper and tore a new one from his notebook. He didn’t want the old one anymore; it was from Ava and Janson's house.

A wad of paper hit his arm, fell to the ground. He looked up and heard Minho and Newt snicker. He didn’t like how his heart sank a little — he should’ve expected this from them, he should’ve expected to not make any friends, he should’ve expected this would happen again — but Newt waved at him from across the room. He waved back, still feeling a little weird, and turned back to his book. One of them (he couldn’t tell which) scoffed in disbelief, but he paid no mind.

He read a few pages, waiting anxiously for the bell to ring, and when at last it finally came, he sprang up from his chair and hurried towards the door. He took a deep breath before merging into the crowd in the hall. The last class of the day was US History, in room 224.

“Tommy!” Newt had caught up to him. “Why’d you ignore us, man? That was rude!” His smile contradicted his hurt tone of voice.

“I didn’t ignore you.”

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. Your face isn’t.”

Thomas glanced at Newt. “I’m fine.”

He seemed to shrug off the issue. “Okay. What were you reading?” Thomas couldn’t even protest before Newt had grabbed the book from his hands. “‘Half Magic.’ What is this? It looks old. And not age-appropriate.”

“It’s a children’s book.”

“Exactly.” Newt was trying not to laugh at him.

“What’s so funny?” Thomas asked, slightly insulted.

“You’re reading a children’s book, from…” He looked inside the cover. “From 1954! Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ!” This time he did laugh.

Thomas tried to take his book back, but Newt held it away. “Well, what are  _ you _ reading right now, Newt?”

Newt paused, smile still lingering on his face. “Nothing.”

“Then you have no right to judge me.” Thomas idly wondered why Newt was still walking with him. He knew he was nearing his next class, which wasn’t even in the same hallway as Newt’s next class, and didn’t know what he’d do if Newt was still talking to him when he got there.

“I’m not!” He paused. “And what a person is currently reading isn’t always a good indication of their usual reading habits.”

Thomas nodded. “I agree; for example, I don’t usually read children’s books from the 50’s.”

“And I don’t usually read nothing.” He handed the book back to Thomas. “Well, I gotta go. See you later.”

“Yeah, sure.” Newt turned and started walking the opposite direction. Thomas went into room 224, adjusting how the bookmark tucked into the pages.

 

———

 

The clock read 12:09 am. The lights were on. Books and papers were spread all over the bed. He lay curled on the one corner not occupied by homework. His eyes were closed, but he did not sleep. 

For some reason he could only think of his parents. No concrete thoughts existed, nor any reliable memories, but the idea of them kept floating around in his head. He thought of the photo of them on their wedding day, hidden between the seventh and eighth pages of his notebook. He thought of the newspaper clipping he left in the old house. He thought of his father’s brother, and how his father had been loved by so many, but his brother grew into bitterness and cruelty. He thought about how they had died, and he had not. He thought about how out of all of his memories, none of them contained the true essence of his parents. Every idea and thought and memory he had of them was false, filtered through someone else’s voice, a camera’s lens.

At some point he drifted into the state of half-consciousness in which he was just asleep enough to dream.

The clock read 12:27 am.

There was a little kid in his dream, running through a dark forest. Being chased by a vampire. Thomas watched, still awake enough to wonder about the vampire. He couldn’t see the vampire, but he knew it pursued relentlessly. It caught up to the child, who fell to the forest floor. Bloodcurdling scream of utter terror, but Thomas himself felt nothing. He watched, detached and void of all feeling. The vampire gripped the child’s shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises. Thomas  _ felt _ that.

With a gasp, Thomas jerked awake, tears wet on his cheeks.

Struggling into a sitting position, he rubbed his face dry and checked his phone for the time. 1:16 am. He blinked blearily at the screen, inwardly groaning about how much work he still had to do. Just as he awoke enough to realize that his life was already fucked and getting good grades in school wasn’t going to change much for him, he finally registered the text message notification from twenty-one minutes ago.

Brenda sent a photo.

He opened it, but it was just a meme. A funny meme, which kind of made him laugh, but nothing important. He sent a quick “lmao” back to her and shut his phone, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. It buzzed in his hand, and he looked again. She told him to turn off the lights and go to bed.

Since Brenda was just across the hall, and would see his light flick off, he didn’t bother responding. Thomas stacked all of his papers haphazardly, setting them on the ground next to his backpack. He just barely remembered to change out of his clothes before turning off the light and collapsing back onto the bed.

He knew what the dream had been about, but he hoped that if he just… didn’t think about it.. then he wouldn’t have an actual nightmare. Think about anything else, anything else, something else… If he had a nickel he could wish on, but could only have his wish half-way fulfilled, he’d wish for…. So many ideas flashed in his mind, like happiness or a time traveling machine or a hug or a chocolate bar that reappeared every time he finished it, but he settled on a chance to start the day over. He didn’t want to have gotten in that fight with Alby. He didn’t want  _ that _ to be their first impression of him. 

But what’s done is done, right? An image of his old bedroom flashed in the darkness behind his closed eyes, and strangely he felt a pang of longing.

No. There are just some things you can’t accept and live with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas isn’t talking about getting in a fight at the very end there ;)
> 
> anyway I'm at college now! i've been super busy this past week which is why today's update came a little late in the day. classes start wednesday, and i hope i'll still have time to regularly upload these chapters because i'm excited for where i plan to take this
> 
> leave a comment if u want! constructive criticism is always appreciated i love it


	4. Rather the Fallen Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed all the chapter titles! and in the summaries of each of the chapters, I have a quote that I drew the title from. All quotes are from Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.
> 
> disclaimer: i have no idea what i’m talking about. Ever. i don’t reliably know anything about the foster care system, group homes, foster kids getting therapy, bipolar disorder, working at hospitals, etc. But i DO know about not understanding math homework, The Office, being depressed and emo, having siblings and asshole friends, being asexual, being panromantic but not caring much for labels, slavery, and Frankenstein.

Halfway through the next week, Thomas still found himself spending time at school with Newt and Minho and Alby, as if they were all friends. And maybe they _were_ friends; it seemed too early to tell. A couple times they’d invited him over to one of their houses — “To do homework?” he’d asked the first time. “Um, sure, if you want to. We were just gonna watch a movie.” — and he’d declined each time.

“Okay,” Alby said this time. “Thomas, are you going to agree to coming over if we tell you we’re doing homework?” He leaned over the lunch table to be sure he could be heard.

Thomas tilted his head. “ _Are_ you going to do homework?”

“Yes.” Alby tried to maintain a serious expression, but Minho snorted and a grin broke out on his face anyway. “Maybe a little bit.”

“Why do you even care about doing homework so much? You don’t even turn yours in,” Minho said.

“I turn it in,” Thomas replied indignantly.

“Yeah, maybe once a week.” Newt reached towards Thomas’s notebook and flipped the cover open. “Right there. You’ve got math homework from Monday. And look! It’s unfinished.”

Thomas closed the notebook again. “That’s because I didn’t understand it. I’d rather turn in nothing than complete bullshit.”

“That doesn’t make any bloody sense! You could’ve gotten partial credit at least, for putting your name on it and _trying_.”

“It’s not about the grade. It’s about integrity, or something like that, I don’t know the word for it.”

“Anyway!” Alby interjected. “We were gonna go to Newt’s place tonight. Do you want to come? You can pretend to do your homework while we watch The Office.”

“No thanks,” came his instinctual response. But before he could continue to lie, “I’m busy,” he actually considered it and thought it might not be that bad. Better than sitting in his room and doing… What did he actually do with his free time? “Actually, sure. I’ll come.”

“You’re sure?” Alby asked.

“Do you want me there or not? I’m confused, see, because you always ask me to come over and then—”

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, Thomas.”

They lapsed into a brief silence before Thomas spoke again. “Do you guys really not do your homework? I thought you had to have above a C in every class or you get kicked off the track team or something.”

“I’ve turned in maybe half of my homework this whole year and I still have at least a B- in every class,” Minho said. “I think. I haven’t checked my grades in awhile.” Alby laughed. “But Newt does all of his work. I bet that makes you happy, huh, Thomas?”

“Yeah, that’s nice to know.”

“But I don’t get good grades on them.”

“Oh.”

“But like you said, it’s not about the grades!”

“Well—”

“It’s not about the grades, Tommy. You said so yourself.”

The end-of-lunch bell rang and they stood up from the table, slinging backpacks over shoulders and gathering trash. “See you later tonight, Tommy boy,” Alby said teasingly.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “See ya.” They parted ways for fifth period.

 

———

 

“Mom, there’s a car in the driveway!” Chuck shouted from another part of the house.

Thomas shifted his position on the bed, pushing aside the slats of the venetian blinds to look out his window. He could just barely see the driveway and the big black car waiting there. He didn’t know what kind of car it was, but it looked nice. The doorbell rang and he let the blinds fall back into place.

“Hi, Newt!” he heard Mary say from downstairs. “Long time no see. Come in.” Thomas struggled to put on his shoes. “Thomas!” she called.

“How are things at the hospital?” Thomas threw his homework back inside his backpack, since he’d tried to start before they picked him up.

“Good, good. Not good that more people are brought in every day, of course, but good that more people leave in healthier conditions every day. How is your mother?” Thomas stood inside his doorway, staring into the room to make sure he didn’t leave anything important.

“She’s great. She learned how to bake bread.” He went down the stairs.

“With what little free time she has? That’s incredible.” Mary saw Thomas round the corner. “There he is finally! Well, I don’t want to keep you boys any longer than necessary. It was nice seeing you again, Newt. Take care! Oh, Thomas, should we set some dinner aside for you?”

“He can eat at our house, Mary,” Newt assured her.

“Okay, see you later, then.” She gave Thomas a quick hug and he tried to reciprocate around his backpack and the book and water bottle he held.

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye, Thomas!” Chuck called from the kitchen.

“Bye Chuck!” At last he could close the door and follow Newt down the driveway. Newt held the passenger side door open and pushed the seat forward for Thomas to climb into the back next to Minho. After situating himself, Newt slammed the door shut and Alby backed out of the gravel driveway.

Newt turned in his seat to address all three of them at once. “We’re in the attic again. Lizzy’s got a monopoly on the den tonight.”

“Lizzy?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah. My sister.”

“Your _sister_?” He hated how perplexed he sounded. Which, he realized, was an incredibly stupid thing to feel insecure about, but he felt it nonetheless. The shock was too evident, made his voice much louder than he would have liked.

“What, you didn’t know he had a sister?” Alby said.

Thomas tried to think back on every conversation he ever had with them. Nothing hinted to Newt having a sister. “Um. _No_.”

“Damn, why are you so offended?” Minho said, half jokingly.

“I’m not. That’s just kind of a big thing to not know about your friend.” Thomas barely registered his own words slipping out of his mouth; “friend” came much easier than he expected. He shook himself. He’d think on that later.

“To be fair, Tommy, you never asked.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“If you’re going to get this offended about not knowing, then I’d say yes.”

He spluttered in disbelief. “I’m not offended!”

“Oh my god, chill, we’re just joking. It’s not — Alby! You fuckwad, you missed the damn turn.” Minho smacked the back of Alby’s head.

Newt said, “Watch your fucking language, Min,” as Alby protested, “Um, that was _intentional_.”

The next fifteen minutes were filled with the same meaningless conversation as Alby found his way back to the main road, and the closer they got to Newt’s house, the more nervous Thomas grew. These houses looked much nicer, and bigger, and cleaner than Vince and Mary’s place.

They pulled up into the driveway of a house the color of refinement. Meaning, it was a subtle gray, but it reeked of sophistication and…money. He went quiet. He stared out the window at it.

“Thomas? You’re just gonna sit here in the car for the next few hours?” Minho asked, leaning against the open car door.

“Um, no, yeah I’m coming.” He unbuckled his seat belt and clambered out of the car, lugging his stuff along.

Newt and Alby had already gone inside. Minho walked with Thomas to the door. “You alright?” he asked.

Thomas had never heard Minho express any interest in Thomas’s well-being so directly before. “Yeah. I’m good,” he replied, unsure whether he could trust Minho to anything so important as his emotions. But he flashed a hesitant smile at Minho before crossing the threshold into the house.

The ceilings were the first thing he noticed. They were so high. It made him feel light, but also like he’d never been tethered to the earth before that moment. (He wondered why he kept reacting so strangely to something as simple as a house.)

“We’re in the kitchen!” Newt called. Minho led the way, and Thomas noted that he didn’t take off his shoes. He expected him to, since the carpet looked so clean.

After picking out some snacks and getting a glass of water for each of them, they headed towards the stairs. Just as they left the kitchen, a blonde girl rounded the corner. To Thomas’s surprise, he recognized her as Sonya from Anatomy.

“You didn’t take all the Cheez-It’s, did you?” she said to Newt.

“There’s still the White Cheddar.”

“Good.” She left.

He blinked. Newt gestured for him to come along, but paused when he saw Thomas’s face. He smiled. “Yes, that’s my sister.”

“Sonya is your sister? Why did you call her Lizzie? And… she’s in Anatomy with us. You don’t even acknowledge your own sister in class?”

“Sonya is her middle name, and of course I don’t. She doesn’t want her annoying older brother embarrassing her in front of Harriet, and Teresa, and Aris.” Thomas didn’t know how to respond. He’d never had siblings; he didn’t know what it was supposed to be like. “You ready to go up?”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah.”

When they arrived at the landing of the (surprisingly spacious and bright) attic, Alby and Minho were arguing over which episode of the Office to watch. “Season 8 is the worst, we’re not watching that!” Alby insisted.

“But Garden Party is one of the best episodes ever!”

“What about Safety Training, though? It’s iconic.”

Newt plopped down on one end of the couch. “Tommy, what have you seen of the Office?” He patted the spot next to him as an invitation for Thomas to sit. Thomas obliged.

“Nothing.”

Alby and Minho burst into exclamations of astonishment and scandalization. “So we’re watching the first episode,” Newt settled, raising his voice to be heard over the others. “Prepare yourself, Tommy,” he said in a playful hushed tone. “The first season is awful.”

 

———

 

“So what’s your deal, man?” Minho asked. Thomas noticed Minho was looking at him.

The boys had watched the first two episodes before they lost focus. Thomas had to admit he liked the show a little, but didn’t laugh as much as the others. Alby and Minho kept referencing other episodes or said the lines before the on-screen actors did, and Newt kept telling them to “stop spoiling everything for Tommy!” and at one point threw a pillow at them. He hadn’t bothered mentioning that he didn’t care about spoilers.

“What?” Thomas said. He had been idly reading the subtitles of the show while Alby, Newt, and Minho talked. He hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation.

“I said, what’s your deal? You seem a little gay.”

“What the fuck, Min?”

“Dude, it’s not a big deal. Unless Thomas says it is.” He raised an eyebrow at Thomas.

He cleared his throat. “Um, no. I don’t mind. I’m…” He hesitated. It wasn’t like it was a huge secret, but no one really understood or wanted to learn. “I’m asexual.” The silence that met him didn’t surprise him, but he was afraid nonetheless. He’d had friends before who mocked him when they found out.

After a beat, Alby asked, “What is that?”

“I don’t feel any sexual attraction.” The answer came easily; he was used to having to explain himself. He didn’t necessarily hate it. But—

“So…” Alby had a thoughtful look on his face.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Newt said.

“Yeah, um, I’m one of the most basic kinds of asexual. I don’t feel sexual attraction, and I’m not interested in it.”

“So…” Alby started again. “It’s not anything to do with, like… rape?”

He wanted to close his eyes. He took a breath. “No. No, nothing like that. I’ve just always been this way.” _Always?_ a voice in his head said. _Yes, always,_ he confirmed to himself.

“But you still _like_ people, right?” Minho asked. “Because, well, liking someone is more than sex.”

Thomas nodded. “Yes, exactly! Yeah, I still like people. Everything a romantic relationship can be, I can do, except for sex.”

“With who?”

“Damn, Minho, why are you so interested? Are you looking to experiment? Because I’m sure Newt would _love_ to—”

Newt’s jaw dropped open. “ _Fuck_ you, Alby! I won’t—”

Alby shrugged. “The only other gay guys in the school are Nick and George, and we all know they’re unavailable. But maybe they’re down for a threesome, Minho, I don’t know—”

“I’m just asking to see if Newt has a chance, man!” Minho said.

“Oh my god—” Newt slumped over.

“Shut up!” Minho said. “I’m trying to talk to Thomas!”

They all looked to him, a mix of reluctancy and expectancy between the three of them. But he could see hints of amusement in each of their eyes. He didn’t like the heat that flooded his face.

“Um.” He glanced at the clock. “I don’t really care for labels like that too much. But I like people for their personalities. I don’t care about gender.”

“I knew it,” Minho said. “You’re gay.”

“Um…” Thomas didn’t know why he wanted to correct him. What would he even want Minho to say instead? “Sure.”

“Okay, let’s talk about something on a less serious note,” Alby said. “Are you gonna get a job while you’re here, Thomas? They’re hiring at Wendy’s.”

Considering the best way to say no, he found it easiest to tell the truth. Also, these people were supposed to be his friends. He was supposed to be honest with them. Laughing lightly, he said, “No, I don’t think that’d work out too well. I don’t know how long I’m gonna be here, since the system is so weird, and it wouldn’t be good for my, um, mental health either.” He hated that he looked away as he said this. It was nothing to be ashamed of, but then he remembered what kind of students these boys were.

But Newt nodded. “I get that. I have the same concerns. I’m diagnosed with anxiety and bipolar disorder. Type two. Getting a job would completely wreck me. I mean, sometimes I’d be perfectly fine, but I think I’d get fired real bloody soon.”

Thomas forced himself to speak, to not bite back his thoughts. “I haven’t been officially diagnosed with anything, but I see therapists pretty often. I was in a group home the week before I came here, and we had sessions everyday.”

Minho made a disgusted noise. “That sounds horrible. Sorry if that’s rude.”

“No, it’s okay. It _was_ kind of horrible. I didn’t like the kids in that group home.”

“Why were you in the group home?” Newt asked.

“Uh.” For a moment, Thomas forgot why. He just felt so tired. God, he really couldn’t remember something that happened two weeks ago? “I don’t...”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say. I was in something like that once, for just a couple days.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just after I tried killing myself, and my parents didn’t want to deal with it, or know how. I went to a mental hospital that ran more like a group home than a hospital. Or so I heard from another kid there.”

Thomas didn’t really know what to say. Alby spoke again. “Well, so much for keeping things less serious.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said.

“What for?” Newt asked.

“I’m not sure. Sorry that I brought that stuff up? And sorry that you’ve experienced that. I guess.” Suddenly he became hyper-aware of the TV show playing. The guy with the bad hair said, “No, you can’t fire me.”

“It’s fine, Tommy. It’s in the past.”

Thomas couldn’t understand why that made any difference. Things that happened in the past had tremendous effect on _everything_ that happened after. Slavery happened in the past, and yet the institutions founded on slavery still stood. His parents’ deaths were in the past, and yet he still lived the consequences of that every day. The phrase “under God” being added to the pledge of allegiance as part of an anti-communism sentiment happened in the past, and yet it still remains in the pledge. But he didn’t say anything.

“You know, if you wanted, I could get you a meeting with a therapist.”

“Oh. No.” Thomas shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need that.”

“Okay.” Newt smiled comfortingly. “Just thought I’d ask. But if you ever change your mind, you can always come to me.”

“Thanks, Newt.”

He shrugged and stood up, gathering empty cups and trash. “Alright, Tommy, when I get back we can start on our homework, since you were so looking forward to it.” He winked.

“Uh, okay. Sure.”

“Ha,” Minho laughed dryly. “Can’t believe you guys are actually going to do your homework. You know that Winston sent all the work _and_ the answers in the group chat, right?”

Already Thomas had started unpacking his work. “It’s not about the grade, it’s about integrity or something.”

“Integrity or something. Okay.” Minho agreed mockingly. Thomas ignored him. He had to focus on chapter two of Frankenstein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah technically Thomas is panromantic asexual (like me!) but in the tags i said biromantic because that’s my headcanon. Idk bi/pan, it’s not that different to me, sorry if that’s wrong and ignorant, but i feel in Thomas’s case here it’s interchangeable.
> 
> (Also I said something about communism which isn’t factually backed up, but my teacher said that last year and i thought it was funny so i put it in here lmfao.) 
> 
> GOD i’m so sorry this entire chapter is like, all dialogue. I am not good at writing. Sorry. Jfc. anyway pls leave feedback it’s greatly appreciated.


	5. Palpable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because every high school AU needs a party scene. Warnings for alcohol and drug use.
> 
> "As he went on I felt as if my soul were grappling with a palpable enemy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO sorry for not having an update last week! i told myself that before i post a new chapter, i have to have the next chapter done, and i couldn't finish chapter 6 last week. it still isn't done, but i decided i would post ch. 5 right now so you guys can have sOmething. (it's currently 11:06 pm and I have a movie to watch for class so I can write a short essay about it, and I also have barely started a 4-page paper that is also due tomorrow haha)
> 
> also, a disclaimer: i'm stupid.
> 
> to help with the timeline and legitimizing why Gally is having a house party, his parents are out of town for Thanksgiving and he somehow got out of going with them lmao

He hadn’t gone to a party in at least three months. Even when he went to parties, he never really got into it, never developed a true interest. So he had to ask himself: why was he going along with his friends to a house party now? How would this be any different? Answer: it wouldn’t. He wanted to trust them though, and spend more time with them. He wanted the friendship to be real, even if it didn’t feel like it.

Thomas leaned forward over Brenda, squeezed into the backseat with him and Minho, to put himself into the conversation. “So who’s the designated driver?”

They all lightly laughed. When Thomas didn’t join them, Alby said, “Oh, you were being _serious_. Well. We usually don’t worry about that until the time comes.”

A tiny snake of unease curled in his stomach. “What? Why? That’s not very safe.”

“Do _you_ wanna be designated driver?” Minho asked.

“I can’t drive.”

“Don’t worry, Tommy, we always figure it out in the end. And we haven’t died yet, so you can trust us.” Newt shifted in his seat so he could face Thomas as directly as he could. “And if worst comes to worst, we can stay overnight at Gally’s. We’ve done it before.” Thomas bit his lip, still unsure. What he wished Newt would say was that he had a concrete plan and no one would get hurt. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thomas, you could always come back with me and Fry,” Brenda suggested. “I don’t think he’s going to drink much tonight.”

“Um, maybe.” His main concern wasn’t getting himself home safely, though. He knew he would be fine. He worried about everyone else.

Alby parked the car in the closest available spot, not too far down the street from the house. Thomas could already tell that this party would be different from those he’d been to before since he could hear no loud, thumping music. There were lots of people still arriving though, and seeing all of them made him nervous.

With Brenda leading the way in front, they walked towards the house in pairs, bumping shoulders in the space the narrow sidewalk allowed. Eyes pointed towards the next step in front of him, drawing his jacket tighter around himself, Thomas couldn’t stop thinking about the worst things he’d seen at parties before. How many times he had to help a stranger to the bathroom so they wouldn’t choke on their own vomit, how many times he had to call a cab to take someone to the hospital, how many times he could do nothing at all.

“Tommy?”

“What?”

“I asked you a question.”

“Oh.” His face burned despite the cold. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Newt chuckled. “I asked if you were going to stick with us or go with Brenda.”

“Stick with you. She probably doesn’t want me around.”

“She goes pretty hard, too. More than Minho sometimes.”

Thomas looked ahead to where Brenda had ran ahead, meeting a girl wearing dreadlocks with joyful laughter, an embrace, and a chaste kiss to her cheek. For some reason it made his heart ache. He made a vague noise in response to Newt.

When they let themselves into the house through the front door, the music and chatter wasn’t too loud that it immediately grated on Thomas’s nerves. Like any other party he had gone to, the people looked the same — boring and like they were trying too hard — but the atmosphere was a bit calmer, less rowdy. Alby and Minho beelined to the kitchen to start, and Newt led Thomas along. “Hey, man, what’s up?” he heard Minho say as he entered the kitchen. Thomas recognized Gally from the track team (shot put) and awkwardly smiled at him in greeting after Gally finished doing that weird bro-handshake thing with Minho. Alby started serving a cup of punch from the large bowl for himself, and Minho told Alby to fix him one as he left the room.

“Uh, Alby, you shouldn’t drink that,” Thomas said.

“Why not?” He set down the first cup, started the second.

“You don’t know what’s in there.”

He scoffed. “Frypan and Gally made it. It’s good.”

“But... someone could’ve put something in it.” Why was it so hard to say what he needed to? Why was he so fucking nervous? Fuck, fuck, fuck **—**

“Like what? Valium?” Alby taunted.

“Yes, or something like that. Also you don’t know how much alcohol is in it, it could be dang—”

“Thomas, stop being a baby, it’s fine! God, no one would think of that except for you.” Alby, with a drink in each hand, tried to push past Thomas out of the kitchen.

Newt stopped him. “Alby, he’s right, yknow? Don’t be a bloody bastard to him about it. He’s trying to make sure you’re being safe.”

Alby stared at Newt for a long moment before letting out a prolonged exhale through his nose. He faced Thomas. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so awful. It just happens. You know that already.” Newt rolled his eyes at the failed apology.

“It’s fine,” Thomas said. “I know.” He stepped aside and swept his arms in a subtly mocking motion for Alby to walk past. Alby gave him a cautious look but he walked through.

“Here, Tommy,” Newt said, going to the fridge. “Here’s an unopened beer, if you want it.” Thomas hesitated for longer than was comfortable before he took it. “I’ll have one, too. Solidarity.” He smiled and popped his own can open.

Thomas smiled back.

 

———

 

An hour later, Thomas found himself in the kitchen again, but this time he was alone. He hadn’t had anything to drink after that first beer, which he took his time getting through. Anything else offered to him, he politely refused.

Newt had left him just a few minutes ago, before Thomas sought refuge in the kitchen. Thomas leaned on the counter, staring at the punch bowl on the island, twisting the cap of his empty water bottle, open and closed, open and closed. He decided to take a step forward and smell the punch. He couldn’t smell anything other than pineapple juice, blue Hawaiian punch, and vodka. That didn’t tell him much. Back to the counter. Water bottle cap, open and closed, open and closed.

Brenda stormed into the kitchen just then. “Oh, Thomas,” she said, surprised to see him there, though her brows didn’t un-crease. She grabbed a plastic cup and poured herself a new serving of the punch. Her movements looked rough, aggressive.

“Everything okay?” he asked. Before he could warn her against the drink, she had already tipped back the cup, gulping down a few sips.

She barked cynically, setting the cup down angrily. “Ha. Yeah, I’m great.” She closed her eyes, leaned her head back. Sighing, she continued, “Sorry. No. I’m just a little upset.”

“What’s wrong?”

Opening her eyes, she tilted her head back down so she could gaze tiredly at him. “I just ran into my brother, George.” After his neutral expression didn’t change, she said, “Great, so Newt told you. I wouldn’t expect any less. Well, that makes my job easier.” Brenda sighed. “He’s here with his boyfriend, Nick, and he… well, he told me their three-year anniversary is coming up. Which means it’s been four damn years since I got kicked out of the house, and George was allowed to stay.”

Though he was trying to listen to her attentively, he made a mental note to try and find George later. He thought George would be an intriguing person. Brother to Brenda, one of the most interesting people he’d met in this town, and Newt’s only ex-boyfriend — that meant he _had_ to be special.

“George said that our mom is mostly tolerant of the two of them dating still, even if she still says things like ‘it’s a phase’ or thinks it isn’t serious. And he said that she was willing to invite me back to live with them.” Her eyes were hard.

Thomas waited for her to continue but she just kept staring. “Isn’t that a good thing?” he finally asked, timid.

“No! No, it’s not. Mom kicked me out of the house four years ago and now she wants to reconnect, but she can’t even talk to me herself? I could still pretend to be straight if I wanted to, you’d think this would be easier for my mom to handle. But she abandoned me and let George stay, George who can’t even fake being straight, George who’s had a boyfriend for the past three years. And she’s treated George just fine in all that time! But what about me? Thomas, what about _me_?” Her eyes shone with fresh tears, face twisted in an angry, but grief-stricken, snarl.

His heart sunk. There was nothing he could say to make any of this better. He had never felt so inadequate before. “I’m sorry, Brenda.” She closed her eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She leaned heavily against the counter across from him, hanging her head. “I wish…” His words dissipated, for he didn’t know what any good a wish would be.

She sniffled, rubbed her eyes, and pushed off from the counter. “Sorry, Thomas. I didn’t want you to… I’m gonna go see if Harriet’s in a good mood.”

Brenda hurried out of the room and Thomas stood in the same spot, unable to move. If his parents had been alive to know about him, what would they have thought? Would they be ashamed? Would they kick him out of their home? Would they accept him and love him the same? Nothing he had ever read or heard about his parents gave any indication to the answers these questions yielded.

“Tommy! There you are!” Newt glided into the kitchen and grabbed Thomas’s arm, tugging him towards the door. “C’mon, we’ve been looking for you. Minho and Alby are upstairs already.”

“Upstairs? What for?”

“There’s less people. Thought you would’ve liked that, since you were hiding in the kitchen all by yourself.” Thomas could smell the alcohol on his breath when he leaned close to whisper, “And Minho brought some weed.” He wrinkled his nose. He didn’t care for drugs. Newt held onto the sleeve of Thomas’s shirt as they pushed their way through the throngs of other party-goers.

They went into the second door to the left of the landing, where Minho and Alby were sitting on the floor, backs against a bed. “Finally,” Minho said. “We were about to start without you.”

Newt kicked Minho’s leg lightly before sitting on the floor next to him. Thomas still stood anxiously by the closed door. After opening a plastic bag, Alby looked up and noticed. “I’m not gonna bitch at you again, Thomas. It’s fine, you can come sit.”

Thomas scratched his arm and shifted his weight between his feet before crossing the distance between him and the others. He closed the circle, sitting slightly outside the edge of an invisible shape drawn on the floor.

At his left, Alby held a blunt to his lips. The tip glowed red. He passed it to Minho, leaned back against the bed. Thomas felt strange just watching, so he took out his phone. He thought he might text Brenda and see how she was doing, but considering the last thing she’d said, he assumed she’d be busy. “Tommy?” He looked up at Newt from the memes he was scrolling through on Instagram. Newt held the blunt out to Thomas.

“No, I’m good.” He returned his attention to the screen, but in his peripheral vision saw Newt, after a moment of hesitation, shrug and hand it back to Alby. When it came back around the circle, Thomas said, “No, thanks.” And then he just shook his head the next time.

“Come on, Thomas, you’re not gonna smoke at all?” Minho said.

“Nope.”

“Why not? Have you done it before?” Alby asked, then took a long drag of the tightly rolled blunt.

“Yeah.” He licked his lips. “I just don’t want to right now.”

Minho took Alby’s offering. “It’s no fun when you’re just sitting there and all your friends are getting high, though. Right?”

“No, it’s okay.” He had stopped paying attention to the memes. Now he just scrolled, scrolled, scrolled, trying to avoid this conversation. He shifted slightly, feeling like he’d started itching all over. Trying to ease the itch, he ran his free hand through his hair. Scrolled. Scratched his nose. Scrolled. It was his nose. He scrunched his nose, sniffed. Scrolled.

Alby spoke again, his eyes closed and head tilted backwards against the comforter. Half-attentive, he said, “No, it’s no fun. You need to get high with us, Thomas. An even playing ground.”

“No,” Thomas said, trying to sound more firm. He tried to tamp down the rising fear. _It’s normal for friends to try to get their friends to do whatever they’re doing,_ he told himself. _It’s just normal peer pressure._

“Thooomas,” Minho said, dragging out the vowel. “Come ooon. Just do it.”

“Yeah, we’re offering you this free-of-charge!”

“Just do it, Thomas.”

Newt looked warily at Thomas as he exhaled, blowing out the smoke. Glancing between Minho, Alby and Thomas, he hesitantly extended the blunt to Thomas as Alby urged him to take it.

“No!” He set his phone down on the floor with more force than he intended. He blinked, dropped his voice. “I said no.”

Brows furrowed, Newt handed the blunt to Alby and struggled to his feet. When he stood, he offered his hand to Thomas, palm facing up. “C’mon.”

Thomas instinctually pulled away, drawing his arms closer to his chest. “Why?”

“We’re just gonna talk a little. S’no big deal.” He inclined his head towards the door. “Come on.” He wiggled his fingers at Thomas, smiling and lightly chuckling at himself.

Swallowing his doubts, Thomas took Newt’s hand and pulled himself up. He let go as soon as he could and put his hands in his pockets. “Okay.”

Newt went out into the hall, just outside the door, and told Thomas to close the door behind him, which he did. “Are you doing okay?” he asked, getting straight to the point.

“Yes,” Thomas answered automatically.

“I just want you to know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to get high with us if you don’t want to.” Thomas nodded. “But you can trust us. We would never do anything to put you in danger. You know that right?” He didn’t answer. Just.. shrugged a little. Newt nodded absentmindedly, head tilted to the side. “I think you should try it, though. You seem really tense, tonight especially.”

“I don’t like parties.”

“O—”

“And I don’t like people forcing me to do things.”

“Okay. Okay,” he said, nodding again. Thomas didn’t like it. This felt like a therapy session. Especially since Newt didn’t try defending his friends, didn’t try saying that they weren’t forcing him to do anything. “You know, it really helped with my anxiety and stuff. It used to be so bad I couldn’t bloody sleep.” He paused, maybe expecting Thomas to say something. Of course, he didn’t. “Do you _want_ to try? I know you said you’ve done it before, and I don’t know your past experience with it at all, but, you know.”

Thomas pressed his lips into a line. Shrugged. After another moment under Newt’s uncomfortably neutral gaze, he nodded once.

“Really?” Thomas nodded again, twice this time. “You can try with just me, some other time, if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

Considering this, Thomas stayed quiet for a moment. Then with a tiny nod of his head, he said softly, “Okay. I’d be okay with that.”

Newt smiled, clapped his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas flinched, shoulders lifting a fraction. Newt noticed this, and his eyes flashed with worry; he dropped his hand. “Let’s go back in, yeah?”

Thomas turned the doorknob, left the door open for Newt and quickly returned to his spot on the floor. After a moment of deliberation, he scooted backwards so he also leaned against the bed next to Minho. Newt sat next to Thomas, leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.

The other boys had finished the blunt, and Alby was recounting a story, his voice languid and low, about a thunderstorm he once saw. “The lightning was _purple_ , man, it was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” Minho nodded and hummed in response. Thomas hugged his knees to his chest and tried to calm his fevered heart. There had been a memory pushing at the seams of his mind ever since Minho and Alby's insistence, but he ignored it. Instead, with his eyes closed, he focused on Alby’s murmuring, sought solace in the closeness of his friends next to him. One day he would be able to sit like this in complete comfort, without having to spend three minutes relaxing each muscle one after the other. _Please, please._ He wished that day had already arrived, but at this moment it still seemed distant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to Alcohol Edu lolol 
> 
> anyway next week we're getting into some Relationship Development™. Chapter 6 was one of the first chapters I wrote! also after I upload chapter 6, I think updates might start to come even more slowly... September is really busy for me since I am working backstage for a school play, but I'll try my best to keep up!!
> 
> uhh comment below a line you liked or thought was funny, or tell me what was really weird and stupid. i want to know how i fuck up too


	6. To Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for panic attacks, paranoia, cute shit, and shitty writing.
> 
> To keep you updated on the timeline, this chapter takes place mid-December. And yes, they are having a track meet in mid-December. I know that’s kind of unconventional but let’s say that for winter running, instead of just keeping up with training, their school also has track meets in winter.
> 
> "I desire the company of a man who could sympathize with me, whose eyes would reply to mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i've made a few small edits in the past few chapters, but it doesn't affect the plot or understanding of the story in any way. it's mostly grammatical and spelling fixes, restructuring sentences to make more sense or for better writing, etc.)
> 
> This chapter was tonally inspired by chapter 8 of my friend Natalie's fic Influorescence. That's some good shit.
> 
> Dedicated to cavetown's cham, Cas! <3

Lately he’d been talking to Newt a lot more, mostly because he’d never had anyone that actually understood depression. Thomas could talk about how the surprisingly negative feedback from peer review in class honestly made him want to kill himself — he thought he had done so well! — and Newt would understand. But he could also make less serious jokes about wanting to kill himself, and Newt would laugh along instead of saying what everyone else said: “No, don’t say that! You have so much to live for!” (As if that had any effect on Thomas’s mental state.) It felt normal. Usually they didn’t talk about the serious stuff, but just knowing that they  _could,_ and he wouldn’t have to be afraid, was comfort enough.

So that’s why he agreed to hang out with Newt on the day of the track meet. He  _wanted_ to spend more time with Newt. Thomas hadn’t had a friend he felt honestly comfortable with in years; the change proved so significant he now found it easier to fall asleep at night.

Newt had picked him up from Mary’s place at six. He felt weird, not bringing his backpack along with him. By that point, it felt like an extension of his body, like he was naked without it. But tonight they weren’t doing homework, so there would be no reason for his bag.

Mary had left for her shift at the hospital a couple hours earlier, and Chuck stayed after school for a Dungeons and Dragons club meeting. So Vince saw him off.

“Alright, kid.” Vince set a hand on Thomas’s shoulder, and Thomas tried not to shrug it off. His heart started hammering, much to his displeasure. “Have fun, and make good choices.”

Thomas wormed away from Vince’s touch, putting on his jacket to hide his discomfort. “I’m just hanging out at Newt’s house. We’re watching TV,” he grumbled. “And it’s only Thursday.”

“Well, in my high school days, I had my fair share of fun on weekdays.” He grinned a bit awkwardly, like it felt strange to make a joke. It sounded weird, too.

He squeezed past Thomas to open the door. “Alright, alright, get outta here.” Vince motioned exaggeratedly for him to leave, and though he knew it was irrational, he worried Vince would hurt him as he passed by. He hated having this apprehensive relationship with his foster father; it was nothing personal. But he’d never been able to grow comfortable with male authority figures. They just rubbed him the wrong way.

 

———

 

_“Tommy, wait up!”_

_Thomas turned around and saw Newt winding his way through the hall, crowded with other students. He moved to stand by the lockers so he wouldn’t be in other people's ways. Newt caught up, and they continued on down the hall to Anatomy._

_“Minho and Alby have their track meet, so if you still wanted to smoke, tonight is a good time.” He shifted his small stack of books from one arm to the other._

_“Uh, yeah, sure.” Thomas smiled. “Yeah, sounds good.”_

_“Great. Hey, I wanted to show this to you.” Newt took one of the four books he held and presented the cover to Thomas with a flourish. “The Amulet of Samarkand. This was my favorite series in middle school. It looks really weird, like the epitome of social outcast middle schooler, but it’s really good. Here, hold it.”_

_Thomas chuckled. “Okay.”_

_Newt held up the next book, smiling along with Thomas. “Anthem, by Ayn Rand. This is the version that has the annotations and stuff in the back. It’s so cool to look at, and the story itself is incredible.” He made Thomas take that one, too._

_“What are you doing, Newt?”_

_Newt looked at him, baffled, as if Thomas should’ve already known. “I’m showing you that I don’t read nothing, like you assumed I did. These books are really meaningful to me. Don’t laugh!”_

_“I’m not laughing!” he insisted, though he was trying to hold back his laughter. Thomas looked down at the two books in his hands to hide it, then back up at Newt. “Keep going.”_

_Newt shook his head slightly, eyes twinkling, before continuing. “City of Ember. Haven’t seen the movie yet, strangely, but the book is very good. It’s one of the best dystopian stories I’ve ever read.” He kept the book in his own hand, and then brandished the last book. “And Six of Crows. Actually, I like the second book better, but you have to read this one first, obviously.” They had arrived at Anatomy, and Thomas went into the classroom first._

_“Oh, I’m supposed to_ read  _all these?” he feigned bewilderment._

 _“Yes! Why else would I_ —  _” Newt cut himself off when Thomas laughed, setting his stuff down on his desk. “Are you going to read them?” he asked, looking a little nervous. Thomas had never seen that before. He took a breath, decided to stop joking around._

_Thomas nodded. “Yeah, I will.” He took the other two books from Newt. “Thank you.”_

_“Now you owe me_ your  _favorite books.”_

_“I don’t own any of them.”_

_“That’s okay, I can buy them myself.” Thomas wondered what it was like to not worry so much about money and to be able to buy whatever, whenever._

_“Um, okay. I’ll tell you later. I have to make a list first.”_

_“Okay.” Newt smiled and went to his own seat as Thomas sat down. Immediately he picked up one of the books, City of Ember, since he’d seen it before and had wanted to read it for awhile. There was a bookmark stuck inside, and Thomas opened it to that page, 263. There was a pencilled bracket around a quote: “People find a way through just about anything.” And Thomas smiled, and the bell rang, and Ms. Lee started class._

 

———

 

When they climbed the stairs to get Newt’s laptop, from which Newt said he would play music, Thomas stood at the edge of the room. “Could—” He paused to clear the roughness from his voice. Newt, who was halfway across the room, stopped to listen. “Could we, um, wait a little before? Watch some TV maybe?”

“Of course. We can stay here a little longer.” Newt sat at the lazy chair and turned on the TV. Thomas sat at the end of the couch farthest from the lazy chair. It felt so uncomfortable, almost formal, like he was interviewing to be Newt’s friend. He wished he hadn’t sat so far away; that much distance felt awkward. But then it would be even more awkward if, at that moment, Thomas decided to scoot down. But even if he wanted to move, he’d have to do something with the toys scattered on the couch cushions.

“What are these?”

Newt glanced over. “Dog toys. Oh! I forgot to tell you, but we got a dog.”

Thomas blinked. He didn’t know why it still surprised him that Newt’s family did  _everything_ so casually. “Oh. Okay.”

“He’s a golden retriever puppy, and his name is Caspar! You can meet him later.”

Thomas nodded. “Cool.”

Very quickly he zoned out, absentmindedly watching the screen but not comprehending a thing. Not a single thought crossed his mind, either. Just a vague feeling of anxiety permeated through all the nothingness. He knew it to be anxiety about smoking later, since he hadn’t done it in so long and the last time was bad. He’d had an episode where he felt trapped in a nightmare and the only way to escape was by killing himself. That made him apprehensive towards smoking at all after that, and even as the cannabis stayed in his system for days afterwards, the paranoia clung to him.

And then suddenly he remembered the night he ran away from Ava and Janson’s place. And the night before. The day the cops brought him home. The week before that.

He had to tell someone about what happened. It felt like if he held it in a moment longer, he might combust.

He didn’t know what triggered it. But the thought would not leave his mind. Looking away from the TV, which he hadn’t been paying attention to for at least the past fifteen minutes, he said, “Newt?”

“Yeah?”

“I, um, want to tell you something.” He glanced up at Newt, who was on his phone.

“Okay, go ahead.” He didn’t look up from his phone.

“Nevermind. You look busy. I’ll just tell you later.”

Realizing his mistake, Newt set his phone face down on the coffee table an arm’s reach away. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll listen. What did you want to tell me?” He turned to face Thomas directly, focusing all of his attention on him. The sudden intense attention intimidated Thomas.

He took a shaky breath. “Um…” Thomas stared at his hands, held in his lap as if in prayer, a white-knuckled knot. What if Newt didn’t believe him? He bit his lip. What if Newt told him it was his own fault? Because, well, now that he thought about it, it  _was_ his fault. He shouldn’t have…

Newt could tell something was wrong. “Tommy?”

Hearing that snapped Thomas back into his own body. He blinked. And he decided he couldn’t tell him. No matter how much he wanted to. And, _god,_ he wanted to. But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. “Um. Nevermind,” he said.

The prospect of never telling anybody… He felt his heart deflate, leaving a cavernous void in his chest. Tears stung in his eyes. He was going to have to live his whole life not saying anything about this. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s nothing.” Thomas looked at Newt and smiled. And he tried to think of something else.

 

———

 

_Mr. Stevens held Thomas’s test out for him. “Good job, Thomas,” he said. “Highest score in the class.”_

_Thomas took the stapled packet and turned it over to see the grade on the front. He got a… one-hundred and two percent._

_Minho looked over Thomas’s shoulder. “Oh my God, Newt, look!” he whispered, nudging Newt in the seat next to him. “Thomas got a 102!”_

_“Bloody hell, Tommy. How did you_ —  _?” Newt leaned across the aisle and flashed his own grade at Thomas. A 70. And Minho got a 74._

_“I don’t know, I just… studied.”_

_“Well, so did we! We all studied for this test together.”_

_Thomas smiled, pleased with himself. “I guess I just understood it this time.”_

_Minho whistled, slow. “Not gonna lie, that’s impressive. I never knew you were actually smart, dude!”_

_Shaking his head, Newt looked dumbfounded. “That’s just not fair. I studied as hard as you. Why do you suddenly have the highest score in the class? You’ve gotten under an 80 on every other test in calculus. Oh. You must have cheated, right?”_

_Despite knowing he was just joking, Thomas still felt a twist in his gut. He knew all too well why he never got good grades in his classes. But lately he had been feeling better about everything, in general, and without wasting so much time just staring at his bedroom wall, he had been able to study._

_He shrugged, cracked a grin. “If you guys don’t want to fail the course, then I’ll gladly help out.”_

_Minho shoved Thomas’s shoulder. “We’re not failing.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. But then he leaned forward again. “Okay, but seriously, could you? Alby and I have the track meet tonight, but how’s tomorrow? Finals are coming up, man!”_

 

———

 

Suddenly he was afraid none of it was real. Had it just been a nightmare? He tried to remember that night, but it quickly turned black in his mind and left a taste of dirt in his mouth. Unable to remember any details made his insides liquify; a gray haze settled over any image he thought he might have recalled. Fuck, he’d done it again. Confused a dream with reality.

What else did he mistakenly convince himself was real? His breathing quickened.

“Are you sure?”

Thomas nodded, swallowed. Was  _this_ real? “Yeah, it was nothing. Besides, we’re watching TV right now.” He returned his attention to the screen, trying to subtly regulate his breathing so it normalized. Since he couldn’t pay attention to the show, Thomas kept staring at the one corner. Still pushing at the edge of his mind was the memory of that night, but he couldn’t see it. He could feel that Newt’s eyes hadn’t yet left him. Glancing over, he saw that Newt gazed worriedly at him; Thomas just nervously laughed a little.

“What?” he said. Newt suddenly looked very, very far away. He dug his fingernails into his opposite arm, but couldn’t tell if the pain was enough for it to be real. He shouldn’t have cut his nails the day before. Trying to shake it off, he took a slow inhale, an even slower exhale.

“Are you okay?” Newt asked. “You spaced out for awhile there.” Time dragged, slower and slower.

“Yes.” Thomas’s voice came strained. After suffering another long moment under Newt’s unwavering stare, he admitted, “I am having just a little bit of trouble breathing, but it’s fine, it usually goes away in a minute or so. It’s not a big deal.” Even as he said this, his chest constricted even more. Further panic bloomed in his chest as he failed to control his breathing. The memory was still as black as before.

Newt paused the show and started to get up. “Thomas—"

“No, I’m okay, I’m okay.” He made a motion as if brushing aside the issue, and he noticed his hands shaking; Newt ignored his insistence that everything was fine.

He crossed the room, moved his dog’s toys off the couch and sat, body turned towards him. “You said this happens regularly?”

“Umm yeah. Sort of.” He shut his eyes.  _Inhale, two, three. Exhale, two, three._ It wasn’t working. Oh, god, he felt weird. He wanted to lie down, but also he itched to get up, run down the stairs, go home. This only happened twice before: once when he stayed at the group home, and once on the car ride to Vince and Mary’s house the day he met them, although that time it wasn’t as bad. Of course, it happened a lot when he had lived with Randall, too, but that was different somehow.

And he couldn’t stop remembering his burning skin on that imagined night. It felt searing. Maybe he _hadn’t_ dreamt it, then, if it felt so real still.

“Is it a panic attack?”

Thomas snapped his eyes open, pretty sure he looked crazed. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever had a real panic attack before. I don’t know what that really means. I—”

“That’s okay. Your heart is beating really fast?” Thomas nodded. “Are you faint? Sweaty?”

“I don’t know, a little?”

Newt shifted a couple inches away to lift a leg onto the couch so he could face Thomas more directly. “Sit up straight.” Thomas blinked and straightened up, running a hand through his hair a few times. “Don’t— okay, here, put this hand here.” He gently took Thomas’s hand and put it over his chest. Thomas’s breath hitched but he stopped himself from flinching away. “And this…” He took Thomas’s other hand, which had been fiddling with a couch cushion, and held it to his stomach. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. The tenderness in Newt’s touch, not at all as rough as his fears, grounded him more than anything else, but he still felt that spike of panic.

“You’re going to breathe in through your nose while I count to four, then hold your breath while I count to seven. Your hands are here so you can pay attention to what moves as you breathe.” Thomas opened his eyes and nodded. “You’re okay?”

Skin-on-skin contact was  _really_ not a good idea right now, but he couldn’t— “I’m…yeah.”

“Okay. One.” Thomas started inhaling slowly. “Two— don’t move your shoulders— three, four.” He counted slowly, his voice soft and warm, keeping his eyes on Thomas. “One, two, three, when you exhale I’ll count to eight. Six, seven. Out through your mouth, one, two, you should feel it in your stomach, five, six, seven, and eight.”

He took another deep breath after that, blinking to try to make his eyes feel normal again. The panic had made him hold his eyes open the whole time, wide with a quiet fear. He wanted to move his hands away, but more than that, he wanted to trust someone to help him.

“I can still feel your heart beating fast, you want to do it again?” Thomas refocused on Newt’s words, carried on a muted murmur, and nodded, afraid to speak. “Close your eyes if it’s easier. One...”

He inhaled, closed his eyes. But that only put the wrong face to the hands on his. “Two...” He missed a beat on the inhale, opening his eyes again. “Three. You okay?” Thomas didn’t answer, eyes flicking away to look over Newt’s shoulder at the clock for a millisecond before looking back at Newt. “Four.... one.”

Thomas had no choice but to focus only on the counting and the breathing. It really was a complicated technique, but it actually started to work. The skin-on-skin contact stopped sending shivers up his spine, and he almost forgot what he felt like before, in that panicked state. His throat felt normal again, even if his heart still beat faster.

They started again. Newt quieted his counting, as if reciting the numbers more to himself, before he trailed off and did the breathing exercise himself in time with Thomas, holding his hands steady. There was just something about looking into Newt’s eyes that calmed him down. He remembered his first day at the school when the same thing happened then, after he went blind with rage. He had calmed almost immediately.

He became hyper-aware of Newt’s hands on his. They started again. _One, two._ Thomas looked away from Newt for the first time,  _(three, four)_ to watch the clock. His heart only beat faster when he held his breath  _(one)_ for the eight counts,  _(two, three)_ and it was still a little difficult to breathe, _(four, five)_ but for a different reason. It felt like a fog filled his lungs  _(six)_ and covered his eyes. He couldn’t focus on any one thing long enough to be able to pinpoint the right color. (But he knew without having to look that Newt’s eyes were brown, the warmest brown he’d ever known.) Everything seemed fuzzy and dreamlike.  _Seven_. When they started the exhale  _(one)_ Thomas looked back to Newt,  _(two, three, four)_ staring into his eyes, dark and colored with concern and reassurance and..  _(five)_ something Thomas couldn’t name.  _Six... seven... eight._

_Nine._

_Ten._

“Are you okay now?” Newt whispered.

Thomas swallowed. “I think so.” His voice came out raspy.

He didn’t realize he had started over counting again, but the voice in his head got to six before Newt moved his hands away. Thomas let his hands fall to his lap. “Thank you,” he said in a normal voice, which sounded too loud and abrasive in the air. He glanced at the clock again. He never really wanted to know the time when he did this; he just needed something to look at.

Newt cleared his throat. “No problem.” He shifted his body so he faced the television. “Um—” Looked back at Thomas. “So. We shouldn’t smoke tonight then. It’s not good just after an anxiety attack. We’ll wait for a day when you feel better.”

Thomas nodded. He suddenly felt incredibly exhausted, though he still felt tense and anxious. It had been less than ten minutes since it had started, so it probably wouldn’t go away for another ten minutes. He kept regulating his breathing, and held his left index finger in his right hand. When he had lived in that group home, one of the counseling sessions had been about relieving anxiety. Apparently holding your fingers helped. Each finger was supposed to mean something different, too. (It surprised him to learn that this was an actual method to help anxiety, since he’d done that a lot before, subconsciously.)

Newt abruptly turned to him, paused for just a moment before quickly saying, “Do you want to meet Caspar? We can see if he’s awake.” Thomas nodded, and Newt stood to lead the way downstairs. Thomas shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the stagnant fog trapped there, and followed Newt.

The puppy’s cage was in the dimly-lit den, a reasonable distance from the tame fire. Newt knelt next to the cage, where Caspar curled up on a cushion. Thomas crouched, too, glancing between the dog and Newt before focusing on the dog.

“He’s the best Christmas present I’ve gotten in years.” Newt whispered as to not wake the puppy.

“Christmas present?”

“Yeah, a bit early, isn’t it? I’m not complaining though.”

They kept still for a moment, looking at the puppy. Thomas thought it must be the cutest puppy he’d ever seen. He glanced at Newt again and saw Newt’s gentle smile, so soft he seemed unaware of it. His eyes sparkled, reflecting the firelight. Thomas smiled. He looked back at Caspar, who stirred and snuffled in his sleep.

“Oh, no. We should go,” Newt muttered. Thomas listened and stood up, but Newt stayed.

“Newt.”

“Okay, hush. I’m getting up.” He straightened up and faced Thomas, who ran a hand through his hair.

“So what are we doing then, if we’re not…”

“We can go back to watching TV?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Thomas expected Newt to lead the way, but apparently Newt had waited for Thomas to turn around first. They stood still for another moment before Newt chuckled and stepped around Thomas. And he followed.

The black memory still pushed, prodded at his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed! leave a comment if you liked or hated something lmao i'm always open to constructive criticism
> 
> especially if it helps me learn more about the topic i'm writing about! (because the only research i've done for this is Jimmy Neutron into my memories about The Fosters and I actually did research about PTSD. like, i even went to a workshop about how to deal with trauma.) mostly though i'm writing from personal experience and/or speculation.
> 
> and now i must resume my homework :(
> 
> ok thanks have a grand ol time see you in a couple weeks if i'm lucky


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